


The Things They Do In The Dark

by AmoreanonynameFormerlySteerintoit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Coda, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Mild Smut, Post-Episode: s15e03 The Rupture, Quote: Sam and Dean Winchester are psychotically irrationally erotically codependent on each other, Sharing a Bed, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 16:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21200693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmoreanonynameFormerlySteerintoit/pseuds/AmoreanonynameFormerlySteerintoit
Summary: Neither one needed to ask. The bed made a certain way. A certain look. One of those nights.





	The Things They Do In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Based on eagle-eyed Tumblrs who noticed "two pillows" in Sam's room. Coda fic to 15x03.

After their Mom died, neither of them needed to say it. Neither one needed to ask. The bed made a certain way. A certain look. One of those nights. When it got bad enough that Sam couldn't repress it any longer, and Dean couldn't drink it away. When "I'll just be down the hall" was too damn far. When all the reasons they shouldn't, didn't matter anymore. 

And again, after Jack, and Chuck, and… and Rowena. The world stopped and shook, and if it was a victory, it was the hollowest they'd ever had. Sam had had to kill her. They'd fought and fought to change it. But even here, now, "destiny" still won the day. Would they ever stop being rats in a maze?

Could they ever actually choose?

Dean's clothes, tossed in a corner. Evidence of a few days. If anyone looked, it would look like the truth. But no one would. 

Words outside the room, footsteps, the rustle of wings. Sam didn't need it spelled out. He'd had to do what he did, because something had gone wrong with Cas' end of the plan. Dean had already been going hard on him, and probably wasn't thrilled to see Cas right then. Sam would talk to him about it later.

They didn't have enough people left to drive him away.

Their world had shrunk again. For awhile, they'd had people. They'd had a family. They had their mom, and Jack, and Cas, and something to care about beyond the two of them. Maybe they were fooling themselves. 

And Sam could feel himself slipping under the waves, slipping back, that dangerous space. Where nobody else mattered. Where the world could fuck off. Where he honestly wasn't bothered that Cas was gone. Where he was honestly a little bit happy, or maybe relieved, to have nobody around but Dean. 

That horrifying part of him that knew he was killing Rowena to save Dean. And she knew it. And that he'd do it again if he had to. 

Was there anyone he wouldn't kill? What if that had been their own mother, saying _"Would you let your brother die, so that I could live?"_

Sam knew he'd kill her, he'd kill Jack, he'd kill anyone, if it came down between them and his brother. And he wouldn't even hate himself in the morning. Dean wouldn't hate him either.

Dean back in the room, doing what he was supposed to do. Lights off, pulling Sam down, his chest to Sam's back, his breath in Sam's ear. Not trying to talk anymore, not trying to make it better anymore, but doing what he did, reminding Sam that really, the entire world, and everything that mattered, consisted of this one room. 

_Is this our choice? _ Sam thought for a second, before pushing the thought away. It was too much. If there was something, anything, about _this_ that wasn't real, they wouldn't be able to go on. 

He and Dean were crowded in the bed together. They were big guys. But they were used to crowding each other. They didn't need a lot of space. 

Sam turned towards Dean, and lost himself again. Dean's breath smelled like whiskey. If they were destroying themselves, if they were wrong, if pressing into your brother until he's under your own skin, if the clutching and grabbing and gasping, before their own mother's (and son's, and friend's) graves had gone cold, if they were just as dirty and dangerous and foul and evil as the monsters they fought, for absorbing each other, devouring each other, getting lost in each other, turning inwards and turning back on everything else - it didn't matter anymore.

It didn't matter anymore. There was no one left to care. 

Sam finally fell asleep with Dean pressed into his skin, Dean's smell in his nose, Dean's breath in his ears, still rough and harsh from what they'd done, and his taste in Sam's mouth. With his eyes closed, he could block out the rest, and forget there was anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Your feedback gives me life!


End file.
